


Covert

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Smauglock, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 12:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Legolas spies his father in the woods with a lover.





	Covert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avocado_bros_4thewin (mkblitz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mkblitz/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for mrpineapple42’s “43. “You’re lucky you’re cute” Thrandy/Legolas/Smaug, Maybe one of them was trying to save the other from Smaug, maybe it's an established relationship--details up to you. Either pre-slash or shmexytimes would work” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s late, but he had to be—following his father directly would’ve been impossible. The guards would’ve caught him, and while there wouldn’t have been any true punishment, he would’ve had difficulty explaining his presence. It’s easier to follow the trail afterwards, or what little of a trail there is. He thinks he knows where they’ve headed. By now, the guards will have been dispersed around the sacred grove, keeping watch about a wide area of the woods that’s forbidden to all but the king. That seems to include the prince. Legolas has never taken well to being told he _can’t_ go somewhere, and really, he thinks his father should’ve seen this coming.

He slinks between the trees, high in the branches, hoping he’s already pierced the ring of guards. There aren’t enough to fully cover the breadth of the space, but this seemed to be a matter of stealth. They always are. Legolas already has his suspicions. 

He doesn’t know why he creeps towards the center anyway. If he’s right, and his father is merely sneaking out of their keep to entertain clandestine meetings with a foreign lover, then Legolas has no business intruding. Obviously, this someone makes his father happy—Thranduil is never in a better mood than when he’s returned from his midnight visits. But it must also be someone unable or unwilling to truly enter the Woodland Realm, for why else would they meet so far from Thranduil’s halls?

Curiosity claws at Legolas, and he comes at last to the edge of the hill, the perfectly circular ring of trees that surround the hidden grove. From what Legolas saw many years ago, before it was sectioned off, the area inside is only a small clearing. It was lined with glistening flowers and lush grass, lovely to look at but otherwise of no particular value. Legolas imagines it’s only so well guarded because of Thranduil’s order, and because the things beyond are of a distinctly private nature.

Legolas still moves forward, now on the forest floor and at a careful crouch. He dares to come right up against a hulking trunk and peek around. He has to lightly tug one branch aside to see anything. He prays the darkness of the night will conceal him, even though it seems particularly bright tonight, but then he glimpses the clearing beyond, and he realizes the illumination isn’t star and moonlight at all. 

Instead, the long, lean figure sprawled atop his father emits a wavering glow. Red as fire, it bathes the clearing in orange and yellow, casting each blade of grass and fallen leaf in a golden shine. The whole circle looks made of pure treasure, elaborately carved in the facsimile of a meadow. Thranduil’s pale skin and hair are made ever more radiant in contrast; the creature can’t touch his beauty. Laid out bare across the grass, Thranduil wears a languid grin. One leg is bent to hide the creature’s hip and what lies between them, the other lax. One of Thranduil’s hands strokes idly at the creature’s side, and under Legolas’ awestruck gaze, great, bat-like wings stretch beyond its shoulders, twitching in time to Thranduil’s movements. Elegant horns protrude from its head, poking between thick, short and waved brown hair, and a long tail is curled down between their both their legs. As Legolas’ eyes grow impossible wider, the creature bends to lick a forked tongue along his father’s lips. 

Thranduil lifts up to kiss it, and the creature bends down to oblige. Its clawed hand clutches Thranduil’s cheek. Legolas wonders for a rare, fleeting moment, if his father’s managed to seduce one of the Valar, one born of flame and darkness. 

The kiss takes a long moment to end. When it does, the creature leans back enough for its slit-like eyes to peer into Thranduil’s clear gaze. Legolas’ chest constricts, his breath caught in sheer wonderment. The scene is stunning. The creature, while strange and horrible, is wildly handsome. Legolas understands how his father could’ve been so ensnared.

Then its gold eyes dart up and pierce right into Legolas through the underbrush. Legolas’ heart abruptly starts hammering again, and he means to wrench away and _run_.

He never gets the chance.

The next thing he knows, he’s knocked backwards, thrown hard against the dirt and pinned down, two strong hands held fast over his wrists. He tries to lift his legs, but the creature sits squarely on him, and Legolas faces the split-second fear that it’s going to _eat_ him. A gust of scorching hot steam mists across his cheeks. The creature smirks at him.

“You know,” it purrs, in an oddly sensual, deep voice like a rumbling hurricane, “dragons usually eat interlopers. You are lucky you are cute.”

 _Terror_ seizes Legolas. He recognizes it now. Not from his own experience, but from tales, more than he can count, stories and rumours and gossip, about a towering dragon with golden eyes and scales like a furnace. He knows of only one dragon left, at least, only one so near to them, and he whispers, hoarse with fright, “ _Smaug_...?”

The creature laughs. Legolas takes that as a ‘yes.’ Now he’s positive he’ll be eaten. Smaug bears his teeth like he wants to. Legolas doesn’t miss how pointed they are. How a dragon managed to condense down into the body of a Man, Legolas has no idea, and he doubts he’ll live love enough to learn. He wishes he’d brought his bow, but he’d never imagined his father to be rendezvousing with anything so dangerous.

As if summoned, the leaves rustle, and suddenly, Thranduil is at his side. Sitting over Legolas, Thranduil holds his discarded robes loosely against his chest, at least giving him some coverage, and he snarls at Smaug, “That is my _son_.”

Smaug doesn’t scramble back as any one else would’ve. He merely lifts a brow and purrs, “That explains the resemblance. ...You make beautiful young, darling.” 

Almost reluctantly, he pulls away from Legolas, sitting up properly and allowing Legolas to do the same. Legolas quickly shifts away from Smaug’s stifling heat. He looks at his father, needing some form of explanation, but now that Legolas looks out of harm’s way, Thranduil is eyeing Smaug again. To Legolas’ shock, he answers only, “I know... but I had thought I was enough for you.”

“You should know a dragon needs to hoard,” Smaug snorts, while Legolas reels. He doesn’t have the words to ask what’s gong on—his throat’s glued together in his shock. Casually sliding his eyes from Thranduil’s hardened face to the soft expanse of Legolas’ thighs, Smaug adds, “I would love to add him to my collection...”

A shiver runs down Legolas’ spine. He’s not entirely sure whether it’s from flattery or fear. Smaug _is_ thoroughly enticing, but he’s a _dragon_...

“You are a bit much for him now,” Thranduil says dryly, lifting a hand to turn Smaug’s face back to him. Smaug allows himself to be directed, a broad smirk tugging at his lips. “He is in shock now. And besides, I am not sure I want my son to lay with such a brute.”

“Brute?” Smaug grunts, sounding scandalized despite his coy smile. “Must I prove to you again how delicate my touch can be?” Thranduil rolls his eyes, but Smaug crawls closer to him, close enough to kiss again, and leans in to purr over Thranduil’s mouth, “What is more, do you not wish your line to have a _dragon_ for an ally? Think of what I can do to you, my little king... what I can do _for_ you... the wanton destruction of your enemies...” Thranduil’s eyes have become thickly dilated, as though no other promise could be half so alluring, though Legolas shakes at the very idea. He doesn’t think he could trust a dragon on his side.

But he watches, numb, as his father kisses that very dragon, and it becomes a heated whirl of tongue and searching hands that leaves Thranduil breathless when he finally forces himself away.

Flushed and aroused but still a decisive king, Thranduil shoves Smaug lightly towards the clearing and turns to Legolas. He drawls too easily, “You should not have followed me, ion nín. But I suppose you have given yourself your own punishment. When you have recovered, you may join us, if you wish, but think carefully before you do—he is every bit as ravenous as you guess.” Then Thranduil leans over and presses a chaste kiss to Legolas’ forehead. If it’s meant to be comforting, it isn’t.

Thranduil leaves him without another word, back into Smaug’s waiting arms, and Legolas sits there on his ass, wondering what in the world he’s going to do.


End file.
